Follow the Evidence
by Seshat3
Summary: Nick struggles to cope with the aftermath of being buried alive. Is there anyone who can break through the walls he sets up around himself? 17/05/10 - Chapter Six...at long last! :D
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own the CSI characters, I just write about them! This story takes place just after the events of 'Grave Danger', I do recommend readers watch the episode before reading! Like you need an excuse eh?

Despite taking some poetic license, I _have_ been researching this fic to get things right so please don't comment to tell me if something is off or non-medically correct! Feel free to tell me if you love it though!

A special thank you to FF writers: no-brainer, Marifw, and embracing-shadows for their very inspiring writing!

**Follow the Evidence**

**Chapter 1**

_The city of Las Vegas sparkled in the Nevada desert, a riot of colourful lights against a darkening sky. The sounds of a city that never sleeps carried through the crisp evening air. Music, laughter, catcalls and conversation all mingled to create a cacophony of humanity. Gamblers, crooks, partyers and tourists paraded up and down the strip, just another typical night in an atypical city. _

_In a darkened alleyway just off the strip, not too far from the lights but far away enough to be unnoticed, sat an empty car. An ordinary vehicle with nothing to distinguish it from any other in the city that night. Nothing except for the muffled thumps and stifled screams coming from inside the locked trunk, screams that were too quiet for anyone on the noisy street to hear. The chances of being heard diminished as full night fell, the sounds fading until there was nothing but silence and darkness._

"Greg," Grissom's voice rang out from the doorway of the break room.

Greg looked up from the case file he was studying. "What's up?"

"Your next case. Body found in a trunk. Photograph the scene, Catherine will meet you there later." Grissom stepped into the room, handing Greg the assignment slip.

Still fairly new to his promotion to CSI Level 1, Greg took the slip with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

"Right on it," He replied, thankful his voice was steady. He set his file aside, then stood to shrug on his jacket.

"Greg?" Grissom's voice was soft.

"Yeah?" He looked up to see his supervisor scrutinizing him, an unreadable expression on his face. _But then_, Greg thought to himself, _his expression is nearly always unreadable_.

"Just remember. Process the scene and follow the evidence." With that, Grissom turned and left the room.

"Follow the evidence…got it," Greg repeated the mantra to himself as he gathered his kit and headed out to the scene.

xXxXx

Greg had just finished taking the crime scene photographs when Catherine drove up. Parking her vehicle, she stepped out, kit in hand, her striking features illuminated by the flashing red and blue of the nearby police car.

"What have we got?" She called as she ducked under the crime scene tape and approached Greg, noting a few evidence flags on the ground.

"Body in the trunk, male, bound at the wrists and ankles with silver duct tape, more tape across his mouth. Fully clothed, wallet in his pocket says he's Vincent Washe. Haven't touched anything else in the trunk yet, just getting the photos."

Catherine nodded, understanding and appreciating the newest CSI's caution. She stepped up to the open trunk, setting her kit on the ground beside her.

"Besides, I thought I should wait for you," Greg confirmed, turning to his colleague as he put the camera away. "I did notice some vomit pretty close to the car, I'll have to get a sample."

"Was the trunk open when you got here?" Catherine asked.

"Yeah, the guy who discovered the body works nearby, came out back for a smoke, saw the car with the trunk up and had a look inside. Called 911 right away. He's over in the police car, said he would co-operate."

"Coroner?" Catherine continued her questioning, filing Greg's answers in her mind for later.

"Parked around the corner, he released the scene about ten minutes ago. He said this guy's been dead for about 4 hours," Greg replied calmly. Catherine smiled inwardly, impressed with Greg's handling of the assignment so far.

Checking her watch she did a quick calculation. "That would make time of death about 9 o'clock this evening. Alright. Dive in, Greg." The slender blonde gave Greg the lead. Greg smiled as he bent over the open trunk.

"Uh, Greg? Aren't you forgetting something?" Catherine prompted.

Greg shot her a quizzical look then swore under his breath as he knelt by his kit to grab a pair of gloves.

"Sorry," he sighed, snapping the gloves on. Inwardly kicking himself he began to painstakingly examine the scene. He talked through his movements with Catherine, keeping up a running dialogue as they bagged the contents of the trunk, swabbed every surface then re-checked the area surrounding the car.

"So, here's a question. Why would someone stick a body in a trunk then leave it open?" Greg asked as he dusted the edges of the trunk for fingerprints.

"Any theories?" Catherine asked, encouraging the younger man to think the question through.

Greg grunted and continued to work at dusting for prints, thinking through the possible answers.

"Greg?" Catherine prompted him "Think out loud ok?"

"Sorry. Yeah." Greg cleared his throat, embarrassed. Of course it was part of the job to bounce ideas around, the team worked by voicing opinions and theories, not getting lost in thinking about them. "Well, I'm wondering, maybe the killer had an errand and when he came to the car, he opened the trunk to check on the body and somehow got scared away."

"Too scared to close the trunk in time?" Catherine mused. "I don't know. Someone with something to hide would take the chance and close the trunk. If it were me I'd act like I'd just thrown my suitcase in, nothing suspicious about that. We'll see what the fingerprints say. If there's only one set then you could be right".

The two CSI's worked quickly, finishing with the scene just as the tow truck pulled up, bright white LVPD letters gleaming on the doors.

"Hey, Catherine?" Greg called out. "Mind if I head off now? Normally I wouldn't ask but…"

'It's your turn tonight?' Catherine interrupted, her voice soft.

"Yeah" Greg answered as he bagged his gloves and slipped the last of the evidence bags into his kit, closing it up and setting it down next to Catherine's.

"No problem. I'll talk to the witness, get the evidence to the lab. Coroner's ready for the body so it shouldn't be too much to finish up."

"Thanks Catherine."

"And, Greg? Say hi for me ok?"

"Will do." Greg answered with a goodbye wave as he jogged to his vehicle.

xXxXx

The hospital was quiet in its peculiarly noisy way, machines beeping and whirring despite the lateness of the hour. The halls were dim, the nurses station hushed as Greg made his way to the familiar room. Nodding to the cop stationed by the door he slipped inside, closing the door with a quiet thud. Warrick Brown looked up from the book he was reading, the soft glow of a table lamp casting his shadow against the wall.

"Hey, Greg" he whispered.

'"How is he?" Greg asked, his voice hushed.

"It's hard to say man. I guess he's stable, but he's still on some pretty strong meds." Warrick said with a sigh, turning back to check on his friend.

Nick Stokes slept deeply, aided by strong drugs and unaware of their conversation. His face and arms were covered with angry red welts and Greg couldn't imagine the agony Nick would be in without the medication. Grissom had told the team about the chances of scarring if Nick scratched at the bites; the only option was to keep him sedated as the welts healed.

Warrick put his book down and stood up, stretching his arms above his head and bouncing on his toes. Greg shrugged his coat off and claimed the chair, grabbing his own book from the shelf beside Nick's bed as Warrick whispered goodbye and stole out of the room.

It was their unspoken agreement; between the night shift CSI's, that one of them would always be with Nick, watching over him, keeping him company. Especially in the dark and silence of night. Even when Judge Stokes and his wife were there, one of the CSI's would be with them too. In the two days since Nick had been rescued, the stricken couple learned that the team considered themselves Nick's family, and both felt a measure of relief at how obviously well respected and well loved their son was amongst his colleagues.

Greg settled in to read, lulled by softly beeping machines. In the dim light he finally allowed himself to relax. It would be all too easy to go over the current case, to re-examine every detail, to dredge up every possible theory, but Greg knew from his years as a lab-rat, watching the CSI's at work, that you couldn't take the job home with you, no matter how tempting it was. He didn't want to burn out, not this soon after gaining his CSI Level 1. So he lost himself in the pages of his book, unconsciously keeping track of Nick's steady breathing and the pulsating beat of the monitor.

Hours later Greg looked up when Nick stirred, but the man only muttered, turned his head and fell deeper into sleep. Greg stood up to stretch, surprised to see the room beginning to lighten. He looked down at his sleeping friend, his mind still trying to come to grips with the horror Nick must have felt when he first woke up underground, alone and in the dark. Greg was unsure of what he himself would have done in the same situation, would he have had the courage to hold on? Certain that the other CSI's would be looking for him, but just as certain they would never find him? He shied away from the thought, unable or unwilling to cope with the idea but equally as uncomfortable knowing that Nick was going to _have_ to deal with it because the nightmare had happened to _him_.

A noise at the door captured his attention and Greg was grateful for the distraction when Sara slipped into the room with a steaming styrofoam cup in her hand.

"Hey, Greg, I got you some of the good stuff," she whispered softly.

"Awesome. Thanks," Greg replied as he took the cup she offered him.

"How is he?" Sara asked as she approached the bed.

"He had a quiet night, barely stirred," Greg replied, then sipped his coffee. "I think they're still pumping him with drugs to keep..."

"You guys wanna shut up?" Nick's hoarse voice interrupted, his eyes still shut. "You're keepin' a guy awake."

"Hey, Nicky, I'm sorry man, we tried to be quiet. How'ya feeling?" Greg asked

"I mean it. Go away, I'm tryin' to sleep" was Nick's reply as he rolled onto one side.

Greg and Sara exchanged a look, then a shrug. Greg slipped his book back on the shelf, grabbed his jacket and whispered "See ya" to Sara as he left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

xXxXx

Greg was sorting through the crime scene photographs when Catherine found him at the start of their shift. He looked up as she entered the room then turned back to the photographs.

"So what now?" She asked him, giving him the opportunity to continue the case. Catherine wanted Greg to find his own way, instead of leading him by the hand. She knew intuition was a big part of the job, and coddling their newest CSI was not going to help him.

Greg thought through his reply, knowing every case he worked was valuable experience. He knew he was on a steep learning curve and was determined to maximise every chance he got.

"I'm just going over the scene until Doc's finished the autopsy. The fingerprints we lifted from the trunk are being processed and I've run the vehicle registration. The car belongs to our vic."

"So...how does a guy end up bound and dead in his own trunk?" Catherine asked.

Greg flashed a grin and cocked his head at his mentor. "I guess we follow the evidence and find out."

Catherine shot him a look and was about to say something when his pager went off.

"That's Doc. Let's go." He strode out of the room.

"I think we've created a monster." Catherine shook her head and muttered to herself as she followed her eager colleague.

xXxXx

"COD is cardiac arrest. Brought on by decreased CO2 levels in the blood. The low carbon dioxide levels caused his blood vessels to constrict, resulting in reduced blood flow to the brain and heart, triggering a heart attack." Doc Robbins didn't waste any time when Greg and Catherine walked into the morgue.

"Signs of a struggle?" Catherine asked.

"Not in the way you would expect. From what I can tell his wounds were all obtained while he was tied up. Bruises on his knees and elbows, his wrists are abraded and I found adhesive embedded in the skin. But these aren't defensive wounds. These were obtained trying to free himself."

_Vincent Washe didn't care that he was ruining his best suit as he struggled against the bonds that held him. Scraping his wrists back and forth, trying to work loose the duct tape he only succeeded in tearing his skin, the tape embedding itself into his wrists. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping into his eyes while he thrashed wildly in the trunk. He screamed from his throat until it was raw, the tape on his mouth sticky, his breath coming hard and fast as he struggled in vain, little realising that his own body was shutting down, blood vessels constricting, reducing the flow until his heart simply stopped, unable to take the strain. Vincent collapsed onto his side, eyes wide with fright as life left his body._

Catherine and Greg exchanged a look.

"So how did he get tied up in the first place? Drugged maybe?" Greg looked at the Doc expectantly.

"I sent samples to tox. Told them to page you when they had results."

"Thanks, Doc," Greg called over his shoulder as the two CSI's left the morgue with the information, uncertain what turn this case had just taken.

"So. Guy gets kidnapped, possibly drugged, wakes up in the trunk, tries to free himself and ends up hyperventilating himself into a heart attack." Catherine condensed the case to the bare facts as they headed for the lab.

Greg shuddered as a chill ran up his spine, this time he had no trouble voicing his thoughts.

"He died of fear."

xXxXx

The hospital room was empty for once and Nick Stokes hoped it would stay that way. He was tired. Tired of the attention, tired of the sympathy, tired of the drugs. With each visitor he was reminded of what he'd been put through, with each sympathetic look he remembered the panic and the terror. Nick wanted nothing more than to dive back into his work, to try and put the horror behind him and go on living as if he'd never been buried alive.

_The sickly green light painted the dirt with its glow, reflecting off the plexiglass walls of his coffin, pressing into him, surrounding him, closing in on him.... _

Taking a deep breath Nick relaxed into his pillow, rubbing his eyes with a hand that didn't feel like it was his own. He stared at the welts on his skin, already fading as they healed. Soon they would be gone, and the last tangible evidence of his ordeal would be out of his sight. He didn't think it could happen fast enough.

Nick shook his head, trying to dispel the negative thoughts, and caught sight of a stack of books by his bed. "Perfect," he muttered, reaching for a book to distract himself with. He had just turned to the first page when the door of his room opened. Stifling a sigh Nick looked up to see who it was.

"Grissom," Nick felt relieved at the sight of his former supervisor. "How are things at the lab?"

Gil Grissom gave Nick a little smile as he replied "We're all working overtime, but we'll manage." Taking the ever present chair by the bed he sat and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Yeah well doc says I should be outta here in a day or so. I'm itchin' to get back to work."

"I'm afraid it won't be that easy, Nick." Grissom sat back in the chair. "After what you've been through...you're going to need counselling and then pass a psych evaluation before you can come back to the lab."

Nick groaned. "You've gotta be kiddin' me."

Grissom slowly shook his head.

"C'mon Grissom, I need to get back to work. It's over, I'm fine."

"Then you shouldn't have a problem passing your evaluation." Grissom countered.

Nick bit off a swear. "Always so reasonable huh, Grissom?"

"You're angry. I understand that. But it doesn't change the facts. At least you'll be on paid leave."

Nick answered with a snort of derision.

"Nick. I'm sorry." Grissom took a deep breath, hating to see Nick hurting. "Would it help you to know you'll be back with me on Nights? Ecklie's putting the team back together."

Nick didn't reply. He simply stared at Grissom with his arms folded across his chest.

The older man took the hint and stood up to leave. "Nick, I want you back to work as soon as you can. Take the counselling and use it to your advantage. I think it will do you good."

Nick closed his eyes as Grissom left the room. _Guess I should've expected this _he thought _well I know all the right answers, I'll have that counsellor eatin' outta the palm of my hands._

Feeling belligerent but better, Nick returned to the book he'd pilfered, certain he would be back at work in no time.

xXxXx


	2. Chapter 2

**Follow the Evidence**

**Chapter 2**

"Vincent's dead?"

The petite brunette sat heavily on the couch. Greg didn't know if he'd ever get used to this part of the job and for once was glad he was only there to observe. Catherine sat down next to their victim's wife while Greg idly wandered around the room, casually stopping to lean against a bookcase. Watching Catherine, he wondered how many strange living rooms the woman had been in during her career, and how many strange houses he'd be in himself now that he was a qualified CSI. Caroline Washe kept a tidy house, though she was dishevelled herself having been woken by the arrival of the two CSI's and their escort police officer. The small, slender woman wore a red fluffy bathrobe with bare feet and unbrushed hair. Greg noticed a framed photograph on the bookcase, showing Caroline as a stylish woman, dressed for some formal event, though she was the only one in the photo. With a shake of his head Greg turned his attention back to the conversation.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Catherine was saying.

Caroline Washe gave her a slightly stunned look, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "How did he die?" she asked, a catch in her voice. Catherine exchanged a look with Greg before replying. "He was found tied up in the trunk of his car." Caroline's hand flew to cover her mouth in shock. She gulped back a sob, fighting tears. _Crocodile tears? _Greg wondered, knowing that in a homicide anyone could be a suspect.

"Can you tell us anything about where Vincent was last night?" Catherine asked gently.

Caroline bit back another sob "He...he had a business meeting, a dinner. He said he'd be late and I shouldn't wait up."

"Do you know who he was with?"

"No. Just that he was hoping to get some new clients."

Catherine checked her notes. "For Silver Staples? Office supply store?" She and Greg had lucked out from the items in Vincent's wallet and from there were able to put together a good profile on their victim including his place of work.

"Yes. He'd been promoted to Assistant Manager last month. He was determined to prove his worth, like he hadn't already earned the promotion." Caroline was calmer now, focused on answering the questions.

"Mrs. Washe, do you know of anyone who held a grudge against your husband?"

"Stan Stevens" The woman's replied without hesitation, her voice suddenly hard. "He always hated Vince, threatened to take the owners to court over the promotion, claimed he'd been looked over. He was going to file a discrimination suit. Vincent was very upset about it, but he was determined to prove they'd made the right choice. If anyone wanted to hurt Vince, it would be Stan."

"Thank you." Catherine paused before continuing. "Mrs. Washe. We're going to need your fingerprints." Caroline eyed Catherine with a mixture of suspicion and fear. "Vincent was found in his own car Mrs. Washe, your prints will be all over it, we just need to know which ones are yours. Greg?" Catherine nodded her head in Greg's direction. Unfolding himself from his stance by the bookcase he grabbed his kit, then knelt beside the grieving widow.

"Ma'am? Can I have your right hand please?" Greg asked politely. The woman gave him her hand, trembling as Greg coated her fingertips with ink, then pressed each finger onto the paper. "Now your left please". He repeated the process before tucking the prints away and closing up his kit. Catherine stood with him but paused while he moved to the door.

"Mrs. Washe, we may have further questions for you but if you think of anything else, please give me a call." She handed the woman her business card before leaving the room.

xXxXx

Greg absentmindedly hung his coat in his locker, concentrating more on his thoughts than on his actions. He and Catherine still didn't have a viable suspect, although it was high time they got some results from the evidence they collected at the scene, and he still had to finish processing the trunk of the car. Closing his locker Greg ran a hand through his hair, fleetingly thinking he could do with a change when he became aware of Warrick passing by, talking on the phone, his voice carrying down the hall.

"Nick, just checking in, call me back ok?" Greg saw Warrick flip his phone closed with a sigh as he ran to catch up.

"Hey, Warrick, you been talking to Nick?" Greg's smile dimmed a little when he saw the frustration on his colleagues face.

"Nah, can't seem to get a hold of him. How's your case going?" Greg sensed that Warrick asked more to distract the younger man than out of any real interest.

"It's just getting started." Greg shrugged then called out as Sara walked by. "Hey, Sara, heard anything about Nick?"

Sara paused at the doorway of the lab she had been about to enter. "I stopped by this morning. They were discharging him before breakfast. He seemed happy to be getting out of there." Joining the two men in the hall she filled them in on the latest. "His parents were talking about staying but Nick; he convinced them to head home." She shook her head sadly "To be honest, it didn't take much convincing."

"But he's home now right? We should go see him," Greg suggested again.

Warrick shrugged uncomfortably. "I dunno man, maybe he just wants to be left alone." He held up his phone, shaking it in his hand to make his point before striding off down the hall. Sara tilted her head quizzically in Warrick's direction, then gave Greg a small smile before turning and making her way into the lab she'd originally been headed for.

Greg stood alone in the hall, certain that being left alone was the last thing Nick needed.

xXxXx

The house was quiet and still. Outside sounds filtered in, muffled but discernible. Kids playing on a front lawn, shrieking with laughter. A car starting in the distance, a mother shouting out her back door, a bicycle bell clanging. Somewhere a dog barked and cat screeched. Nick Stokes sat alone at his kitchen table, soaking up the sounds of humanity, of life.

_His heartbeat was loud and quick in the close confines of the Perspex box, hammering out a rhythm of panic against his chest. He found himself drumming his heels against the floor of the coffin, trying to drown out the sound of his own fear, the sibilant hiss of dirt sliding against the clear plastic, the faint tick tick tick of his watch counting down his last hours..._

Nick shook his head, trying to dispel the memory which had risen unbidden. Abruptly he stood, then threw open the window, letting in the noise of the neighbourhood. Wandering to the living room he flicked on the stereo and pressed play, turning the volume up high before dropping onto the couch, laying back and closing his eyes, willing the memories to fade as he tried to sleep.

xXxXx

Humming quietly to himself Greg carefully processed the car that had arrived at the lab only an hour before. He was neck deep in the trunk, collecting fibres and swabbing the slightest trace that could pertain to the case. He decided as he worked that he would stop by Nick's place after his shift, his instinct still telling him that leaving the older CSI alone was the wrong thing to do. He'd been surprised earlier when Nick had answered his call, assuming he would have to leave a voice mail if Warrick's attempts were anything to go by.

_"Hey, Nick, Sara said you were home. How are ya?" _

_"Sanders. Yeah they let me go this morning. Just tryin' to get some shut eye." Nick answered in a sleepy voice._

_"How can you sleep with that racket in the background?" Greg joked. "Who is that? Hank Williams?" _

_"Noooo, it's Johnny Cash genius." Nick replied in an amused drawl, turning over onto his side._

_"Well there's no accounting for taste." Greg said with a laugh. "I just wanted to call, see how you were. I'll let you get back to sleep." _

_"Thanks, Sanders. 'Preciate the call" _

_Greg flipped his phone closed, puzzled as to why Nick would answer his call but avoid Warrick's. With that thought in mind he made his way to the garage to begin the painstaking task of searching a car for evidence. _

"Catherine," Greg's voice rang out. "I got something."

Catherine climbed out of the car and strode around to the trunk as Greg quickly snapped photographs of his find. He held up his gloved hand, clutching a gold watch. "Found this tucked under the floor covering."

"Expensive taste." Catherine mused. "The victim wasn't wearing a watch. It could be his." She looked at Greg expectantly.

"Whoever it belongs to, it didn't fall off. The clasp is closed. I'll run it to DNA, see if we can get any epithelials." He carefully bagged the watch then tagged it before jogging off down the hall.

"Greg," Catherine called out after him. The young man stopped in his tracks and turned. "Don't be long, we still need to visit Stan Stevens."

"I'll be faster than a speeding bullet." Greg laughed, turning on his heel and taking off again.

xXxXx

Silver Staples was a large grey building attached to the side of a strip mall. The red sign stretched across the side of the store boasted a giant staple painted to look silver. Catherine and Greg stepped out of her vehicle and headed for the entrance where Greg held the door open for his colleague. With a bemused smile she stepped inside, immediately striking out for the customer service desk.

"May I help you?" The uniformed man at the desk inquired.

"Catherine Willows, Greg Sanders, we're with the Las Vegas crime lab. Can we speak to Stan Stevens?" Catherine got straight to the point. "He's in ..in...the store room. I'll ..I'll just page him" the clerk stammered, suddenly nervous as he reached for the intercom and began to page, eyeing the two CSI's. Greg couldn't help but wonder if he would always have that effect on people now that he was a criminalist, he would have to ask Catherine later if it was something that came with the territory.

"May I help you?" Greg and Catherine turned as a tall man approached the counter, his name tag confirming this was Stan Stevens. He strode up to the desk, reaching out to shake Catherine's hand.

"Mr. Stevens," Catherine remained cool as she introduced herself and Greg. "We're here about Vincent Washe," she continued.

"Vincent? He hasn't shown up today. I was supposed to have the day off in fact, I'm here covering for him." Stan said with a frown. Catherine raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Stevens. Vincent Washe was found dead last night." Greg heard a gasp come from the clerk behind him, though he was watching their suspect closely. The man showed visible surprise, his eyes widening and jaw dropping. "Dead? How?" He leaned against a nearby shelving unit.

"Maybe you can tell us." Catherine wasn't pulling her punches. "You **did** have a grudge against him?"

"I do...did, but I wouldn't kill him over it. I was going through legal channels, everyone knows that." Stan replied, forcefully.

"Where were you last night Mr. Stevens?" Catherine persisted.

"I was at home, reading."

"Alone?"

"Yes alone. Look I don't know what happened to Vincent. He had some business meeting set up, said he was bringing in new clients."

"Mr. Stevens?" A voice piped in. Greg and Catherine both turned as the forgotten clerk half raised his hand. "I...I don't think he had a business meeting. Beth overheard Mr. Washe on the phone, he...he had a hot date last night."

"You're sure?" Catherine asked the clerk, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully.

"Beth told Ryan and Ryan told me. I guess he was getting kinda hot on the phone." The clerk blushed.

"Is Beth here today?" Greg spoke up then.

Stan shook his head. "She has the rest of the week off. Family wedding I think."

"We'll need her details," was Catherine's reply, though Greg could tell she was still counting Stan as their prime suspect. Without evidence however there was nothing they could do. Greg only hoped something would come of the watch he had found in the trunk. In the meantime, he only had to get back to the lab and write up a report of the case so far before his shift was over. Then he'd drop in and see Nick.

With more witness details in hand the two CSI's made their way back out to Catherine's car. Humming happily Greg buckled his seatbelt as Catherine started up the car. "What's with you, Greg?" she asked him "Hot date tonight?"

Greg snorted. "Ha. If only."

xXxXx

Nick woke late in the afternoon with a start. His sleep had been fitful, full of broken dreams and fragments of memories. Sitting up on the couch he noticed the afternoon sun shone into his living room with a warmth he didn't feel. Instead he felt cold, as though a dark curtain hung between himself and the world. The sounds that had lulled him to sleep had faded, the cd player had turned itself off and the neighbourhood seemed at rest.

In contrast Nick was restless, roaming from room to room, unable to still himself, unable to find something to occupy his mind with. None of his books looked appealing, nothing on television seemed interesting, nothing in the fridge seemed appetizing. He decided on a shower then, at least he could get the hospital smell out of his hair and skin.

Twenty minutes later Nick still stood in the shower, hot water streaming down his body, steam billowing through the room. With his forearms against the wall he leaned forward, head resting on his hands, trying to relax under the pelting stream. He thought about his upcoming counselling session, which couldn't come quickly enough in his mind. He didn't know how he would get through the rest of the day, much less the night, until tomorrow when he was meeting with the psychologist. "I gotta get back to work" he muttered to himself as he finally stirred, turning the water off and stepping out of the shower.

He left streaks on the mirror as he wiped it with a towel. Lathering his face with shaving cream he began his grooming slowly, distracting himself with thoughts of his upcoming appointment. Rehearsing what he would say was better than thinking about how lonely he felt, easier than exploring how cut off from the world he seemed to be. He looked himself in the eye as he practiced his answers in the mirror, satisfied he could pull it off. With a final nod to himself he left the bathroom, leaving his towel in a heap on the floor.

The doorbell rang as he finished getting dressed. Not expecting visitors he was puzzled, answering the door with his hair still damp from his shower.

"Special delivery," Greg Sanders quipped as he stood on the doorstep, hands full of boxes and beer.

"What are ya doin' here?" Nick asked, thinking Greg was the last person he would have expected.

"Thought you could use the company," Greg replied. "I brought pizza." He grinned, as if pizza were the greatest gift in the world. Nick felt his stomach grumble at the scent wafting into the doorway, reminding him he hadn't eaten since breakfast at the hospital. He opened the door wider then closed it behind Greg who sauntered towards the kitchen.

"Thanks man, I could use a beer right about now, and I'm starvin'" He followed Greg into the kitchen. "Whatcha' got there?" he asked as he noticed an oblong box laying on the counter.

"That?" Greg grinned foolishly. "That is something I can't just tell you about. That. You need to experience yourself."

xXxXx

_A pale hand hovered above the table, long fingers clenched in a loose fist. A pair of soft lips gently pursed and blew a breath into the fist. The hand shook twice before releasing its captive object. The single die hit the table with a clatter where it bounced and skipped before skittering to a stop, five white dots gleaming against the red face._

"Yes!" Greg exclaimed "Show me the money!" He grabbed Daisy Duke's jeep and moved it five spaces. Snatching a card from the table he couldn't contain his glee.

"C'mon man, what's it say?" Nick asked, trying to grab the card from his friend.

"Found a shortcut. Go again. HA!" Greg gave an evil laugh as he picked up the die and kissed it before shaking it in his hand and letting it roll onto the table. "We're in the homestretch now Daisy."

"Yeah well, I'm lettin' you win" Nick sat back with smirk.

"Sure, keep telling yourself that" Greg smirked back as he moved the jeep another 4 spaces. The dirt road ahead was clear of obstacles, two more turns and he'd be the winner. He grinned at Nick as the older man took his turn, nothing untoward happening to the General Lee as he moved it ahead.

"Didn't I tell you it'd be fun?" Greg asked his friend as took another swig from his bottle of beer. An empty pizza carton lay open on the kitchen counter, a few empty bottles of beer standing beside it. Nick sat back and looked around, nodding and smiling.

"Yeah. Ok, I'm havin' a good time" he admitted.

Greg picked up his die and shook for his turn, his eyes on the board. Moving the jeep ahead he cleared his throat and he asked Nick the question he'd been afraid to ask. "Nick? What's up with you and Warrick?"

"'Nuthin'" Nick answered, a little too quickly. Greg raised his eyebrow and looked across the table, Nick shrugged, taking another swig of his beer.

"Nothing? Then why won't you talk to him?" Greg persisted in questioning his reticent friend, trying to be the peacemaker.

Nick shrugged again, clearly uncomfortable. "There's nuthin' to say" he replied.

"Look, Nick, maybe it's not my place..."

"Damn right it's not" Nick cut in, picking up his dice.

"...but you guys are friends, and I hate to see you like this. Warrick feels bad enough..."

Nick snorted and shook his head "'Well it's not about what Warrick feels, I got enough to deal with on my own without takin' on his guilt. And guilt for what? It coulda been him? Well it wasn't him. It was me, ok? So excuse me if I don't wanna be reminded of it every time he calls me." Nick stopped his tirade, slightly shocked at his own vehemence. He stared down at the dice in his hand, suddenly uninterested in the game.

"You're right," was Greg's soft reply "I get it."

Nick looked up, meeting Greg's eyes and giving a small smile at his friend's nod of understanding. Greg started to say something but stopped himself until Nick raised his eyebrows at him, silently urging him to continue his thought.

"But you're wrong about one thing," he paused. "You're not on your own. You know?"

The two men fell silent for a moment before Nick looked away and laughed nervously, rolling the dice from his hand to clatter on the table. "This game isn't over yet man, I still have a chance".

"Go ahead" Greg laughed back. "Make my day".

xXxXx


	3. Chapter 3

**Follow the Evidence**

**Chapter 3**

Nick nervously jiggled his leg up and down, unaware he was also drumming his fingers in a random rhythm against his knee. The silence stretched until he cleared his throat and repeated his last thought. "So. That's it. It's all good. I'm...good." He fell silent again when he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Nick had been surprised when he was shown into Dr. Mel Harding's office. The tall, slender woman was at least sixty, with startling white hair and prominent laugh lines around her eyes. Her manner exuded professionalism and experience without being intimidating. Her office was tastefully decorated in neutral, comforting tones designed to put people at ease. Nick had been expecting, and dreading, the stereotypical couch and was relieved to see two comfortable leather chairs angled towards a desk that sat near the back wall. The chair might be comfortable but Nick certainly wasn't as he looked everywhere but at the therapist, waiting for her to respond.

Dr. Harding peered at Nick, her keen blue eyes studying the nervous criminalist sitting across from her. The older woman had been too long in the business to be taken in by his ready speech and attempt at charm. She had dealt with many law enforcement professionals during her long career and understood that the character traits that best suited them for crime fighting, also made them bad patients. She was undaunted however, and set herself to the task of putting this man back together after the horrific ordeal he had been through.

"Thank you, Nick. That was a pretty speech, well rehearsed. Now, shall we get on to the real work?" Dr. Harding was gentle with her prompt, but Nick got the message loud and clear. This wasn't going to be as easy as he first thought, and he wondered just what the woman had in store for him and how long it was going to take.

xXxXx

"Hey, Mia, how's it going with my results?" Greg bounded into the DNA lab with his usual enthusiasm, as if the early afternoon didn't mark the beginning of an extra long shift. He held his file in hand, ready to discuss the results and counting on finding epithelial cells on the watch he had recovered from the car, hoping it would be the case breaker. Mia turned around, her forehead furrowed and mouth turned down in a frown.

"Sorry, Greg, I haven't touched your watch yet. I need to get through this backlog first."

Greg sighed in frustration. "Look, Mia, I really need those results."

"You and everyone else around here," Mia spoke sharply. "I'm already working a double, I have a headache, and I can't think straight. The sooner you leave me alone the sooner I'll get to your evidence." She massaged her temples with her gloved hands, then swore as she realised what she had done. Scowling, she yanked the gloves off and reached for her hand sanitizer. Greg turned on his heel, flipping his case file shut as he stalked out of the DNA lab towards the Trace lab.

Dave Hodges was alone in the lab, carefully handling a tray of vials filled with a clear liquid. Greg watched for a moment before he spoke. "Hodges. You got my results yet?"

"You know, Greg, there are other CSI's who need results too," Hodges replied with disdain. He reached for a pipette, not even turning around to face the lowest ranking CSI.

"Well what's the holdup? Catherine and I...."

"Grissom has a big case. High profile. He's my top priority."

Greg stared at Hodges' back for a minute before leaving the lab, knowing he'd be fighting a losing battle. He didn't even bother going in to talk to Henry when he saw both Grissom and Warrick hovering over the toxicology tech. The shift suddenly stretched out before him. He didn't know how long he would be waiting on the techs to clear their backlog. With a sigh Greg set off for the break room, the last of his good mood evaporating. With a hot case in hand that would grow colder every hour, he was not at all grateful for the down time.

xXxXx

"I'm grateful. Grateful to be alive. Grateful my friends didn't give up." Nick shrugged, uncomfortable with the turn of conversation. Over the past hour Dr. Harding had asked him some difficult questions that he hadn't been ready to answer. Questions he doubted he would never have asked himself. As a result, his replies were short and unimaginative, everything he thought he was supposed to say.

"Nick," Dr. Harding gently prodded, "do you think it's possible you feel grateful because you think that's what you **should** be feeling?" Nick sat back in his chair, hands on his thighs as he simply stared at the therapist, unwilling to admit she had hit a nerve. Swallowing hard against the lump in his throat he shook his head. He didn't know the right answer, because he didn't know how he was feeling. How could he feel anything when he was so numb? The curtain between him and the world hadn't lifted, but he wasn't prepared to put the sensation into words. Just thinking about it threatened to bring down the claustrophobia.

_His head still hurt. Hours later he could still feel the pain from when he had connected with the plexiglass after he had first woken. He hadn't known then that he was so confined. So utterly restricted. Now his arms ached, his back screamed in protest, demanding a stretch, his feet tightened in uncontrollable cramps as his legs shook with tension . The air was stifling, full of the scent of his own fear, a pungent mixture of sweat and urine that seemed almost tangible in the tiny space. A space that was getting smaller by the minute. He felt like he was being wrapped in rotten wool, tighter, ever tighter as the hours crawled by._

Nick shook his head, dragging his thoughts back to the present and the session he was finding more and more difficult to sit through. The only good part about it had been a mental exercise he'd promised to try when he got home, though he secretly hoping it would put him to sleep. He cleared his throat as he realised his thoughts had wandered and Dr. Harding was waiting for his reply.

"I really am grateful. I feel like I have a second chance at life." He laughed, hoping he sounded convincing. "In fact, I'm going to make a point of enjoying life from now on."

"Life affirmation is a common response after a near death experience," Dr. Harding replied, her eyes flicking to the clock placed discreetly on the desk. "Why don't we continue the discussion at our next session?" Her tone was no-nonsense and Nick realised he'd have to up his game if he wanted the therapist to clear him for work any time soon.

"Sure. Yeah ok, life affirmation. Got it. Next time," he replied nervously, itching to get out of the chair and away from the office. He was half standing when Dr. Harding interrupted him. This time her voice was serious, as though she were trying to impart something of importance.

"Sooner or later, Nick, this is going to hit you. Whether it's now or next month or a year from now, you **are** going to have to deal with this. Wouldn't you rather do it now before it damages you beyond repair?" Her blue eyes were probing. Nick could only barely meet her gaze as he stammered his thanks and rushed out of the office.

xXxXx

The break room was thankfully quiet, the usual sounds from the busy lab muffled by the closed door. Greg sat at the table, reading the latest forensic journal, a steaming cup of his favourite coffee in front of him. He'd quickly gotten over his pique and decided to make the most of the wait. The more he studied forensics, the better a CSI he would be. Although he wryly wondered if he'd ever need to know about 'Interoperator Tests for Anatomical Annotation of Earprints'. But then, no one could predict what would come up in the course of the job, and Greg recognised that the more he knew about forensics, the better an asset to the team he was.

The newest CSI was keenly aware of just how important it was to stay ahead of the game. His thoughts turned to Nick and the way each member of the night shift team had contributed to his rescue, not only in a scientific sense, but in a personal way as well. If Catherine hadn't had the courage to ask Sam Braun for the ransom; if Mia hadn't thought to use their then unknown suspects remains, checking for related DNA and identifying Kelly Gordon; if Grissom hadn't known that fire ants didn't like Nevada soil and only thrived in nurseries; if Sara hadn't made her intuitive leap and remembered Kelly saying she worked with plants. So many ifs. So many variables, so many details that meant nothing on their own until they were pulled together and turned into a whole. Kind of like the way the team worked. Each individual bringing their strengths, and weakness, to the table so that as a group they achieved the impossible. Greg turned a page, hunkering back down over the journal and focusing on the article with renewed motivation, determined to become the kind of CSI who made a difference.

He wasn't disturbed until an hour later after he had finished the article and was pouring himself another cup of coffee. He looked up in surprise when the door opened and Warrick trudged into the room, seemingly dejected. Flinging himself into a chair with a sigh, he grabbed Greg's journal and flipped it open, more out of anxiety and something to do than any real interest. Greg raised an eyebrow, but remained silent, sensing the frustrated man would open up if he wanted to. He didn't have to wait long.

"You talked to Nick lately?" Warrick's voice was deceptively calm.

Greg took a sip of coffee before answering casually, "Yeah, I saw him last night." Warrick abandoned the journal, turning his piercing green eyes onto the former lab tech. Greg met the look evenly as he leaned back against the counter.

"How is he?" Warrick asked softly, his concern for his friend overriding his frustration.

"Tired mostly. Seems alright though." Greg shrugged nonchalantly.

"Oh?" The word was laden with unspoken questions. Greg let out an exasperated sigh, then moved to sit at the table across from his friend, knowing he had the answers Warrick was looking for and hoping the older man would consider his advice.

xXxXx

A soft, lilting voice filtered into Nick's ears as he sat in his chair, the house quiet and his telephone switched off. He settled his shoulders, feet planted on the floor as recommended. He allowed his hands to rest on his knees, eyes closed as he tried to follow the instructions on the CD that was playing. He wished he could have lain on the couch to meditate, the voice would surely have sent him to sleep in no time.

_I shoulda blown my nose before I started_ he thought as he tried to concentrate on his breathing. _Oh wait...I'm not supposed to be thinkin' thoughts_ was his next thought as he attempted to become aware of his feet on the floor, the chair pressing into his legs. _This chair isn't so comfortable after all. Shoot, there I go again._ He took a deep breath to steady himself as the voice continued to encourage him to become aware of his body. _Shit, itchy back, itchy back _was Nick's panicked thought. _Am I allowed to scratch? _The voice hadn't said anything about moving during the meditation. _I'm pretty sure I have to stay still but this itchin' is drivin' me crazy. It's always the way though, man I don't care what the voice says, I'm gonna scratch. _He let out a sigh as he stretched his arm around and dug his fingers into his skin, soothing the itch. _That's better _he thought as he returned to his relaxed position. _Wait. Shoot! I missed what the voice was saying! _Nick closed his eyes and tuned back into the CD. The voice was telling him to become aware of the sounds in the room. _Ummmm ok....well there's the voice. And my breathing. Man that whistlin' is annoying. And...the voice..._Nick strained his ears, trying to hear something different, something interesting. _What does the voice want me to hear anyway? What if I were in a sound proof room or somethin'? _He breathed a sigh of relief as the next instruction was given to extend his hearing to sounds outside the room. _Ok, well there's a car drivin' by out front, sounds like they're speedin' too, man this is a neighbourhood area, there could be kids playin' out there! Speakin' of which...I hear kids...laughin' and...and a ball bouncin'...like a basketball. Gotta remember to watch the game tonight. Did I pick up popcorn? Need to check that. Wish Warrick wasn't being so difficult, would be nice to have some company for the game. I wonder if Greg wants to come over? Does he even like basketball? We need a rematch anyway, I can't believe he won with Daisy Duke. Next time I'm takin' the dirt road. Hey...wait...what happened to the voice? Don't tell me it's over already. _

Nick sighed with frustration as he opened his eyes and realised he had completely failed at the meditation. Even though Dr. Harding had told him it would take time and practice, he wasn't used to failing, especially at something he had thought would be easy. The dedicated CSI was so single minded when it came to solving cases that he was surprised he couldn't concentrate on the exercise he'd been given. He hadn't realised how disorganised his thoughts were when he had nothing to focus them on. Laughing ironically at himself, Nick stood up and went to blow his nose and turn on his phone, thinking as he did that for a moment, for a mere split second when the kids had been laughing and the basketball bouncing, he had felt the curtain stir.

xXxXx

"There you are, Greg. I've been looking all over for you." Catherine sounded annoyed as she passed Warrick leaving the break room, eyeing Greg sitting at the table. "Getting some reading done?" she asked, somewhat mollified to see the forensic journal on the table proving the young man wasn't slacking.

"Labs are all backed up. Was as good a time as any."

"Well, break's over. We've found Beth Morgan**;** maybe she has some answers."

Greg jumped up from his chair, ready for action. Beth Morgan sounded like a stereotypical secretary, nosy and gossipy, a combination that might prove useful in moving their case forward. "So where are we headed?" Greg asked as the two CSI's walked through the halls of the lab.

"The Bellagio. The wedding reception starts in an hour."

"You driving?" Greg asked impishly, already knowing the answer. Catherine simply shot him a look before chuckling softly.

With traffic light they made it to the hotel with time to spare, though Greg was surprised to see Jim Brass standing in the parking lot. He had expected a police escort, but certainly not the Captain, not for a simple interview with a potential witness.

"Hey Catherine. I see you brought the little one."

Greg sighed inwardly at the jibe, knowing it was all good natured. The police captain winked at him as the trio entered the hotel, intent on finding the ballroom hosting the wedding reception.

It wasn't hard to miss. It was obvious this wedding had a lot of money thrown at it; the gold and ivory decor was lavish, though tasteful. Standing at the doorway, Greg fingered a ribbon tied around the door handle, glittery gold dust floating from the ivory silk to the floor. "Nice" was all he said, giving Catherine and Jim a goofy grin.

Catherine raised an eyebrow then scanned the room. The wedding party hadn't arrived yet, but the room was full of guests and waiters. Catherine intercepted a harried looking young man clutching a clipboard and wearing a nametag. "Excuse me. Where can we find the wedding party?"

"I'm sorry, the party is running late."

"That's not what she asked," Jim's low voice cut in as he flashed his badge. "Where's the wedding party?"

The young man paled visibly. "In the atrium with the photographer. I'll take you there."

"You do that," Jim said in an obviously patronising tone.

Greg felt oddly reassured at the exchange; at least he wasn't the only one Jim treated with seeming disdain. Suddenly it didn't feel so personal anymore and Greg decided he would take the ribbing with a grain of salt.

xXxXx

Warrick hit the 'send' button on his phone, hoping his message would be received even if his phone calls weren't. He'd spent ten minutes composing the text to Nick, wanting to get it right and hoping for a reply. Tucking his phone back into his pocket he made his way through the lab to the evidence locker. He was halfway there when his phone buzzed. Surprised to get a response so quickly, he stepped into an empty conference room and flipped his phone open.

"Sounds good. See you then." was all the message said. It was enough. Warrick continued to go about his business with a smile on his face.

xXxXx

Beth Morgan had the kind of voice that would get on anybody's nerves if they listened to it for too long. Her high pitched, nasal whine went with her short and plump figure, and it was obvious to anyone that she was vastly uncomfortable in the gold sheath dress she was wearing.

In his place as an observer, Greg shifted his feet as Catherine interviewed the girl. Glancing around the atrium, he took in the rest of the wedding party standing off to the side trying not to stare. Or glare, in the case of the fuming bride.

"Tell us why you think Vincent Washe had a date?"

The girl sniffed, her chest heaving in a sob, dislodging a thin gold strap from her shoulder. "'Cause I heard him on the phone is why. After that I just had to tell Steph because I couldn't believe what I'd heard."

_"I can't believe tonight is the night." Vincent turned his chair around to face the window of his office. "Yeah, I've been looking forward to it for a long time baby." He paused. "Can't wait to see you in it." His voice lowered, turning into a soft, sexy growl. "I'll see you then. Bye." Vincent hung up the phone and smiled to himself. Beth slowly eased the door shut, eager to spread the latest gossip around the store. It hadn't been his wife he was talking to...the woman had been holding on another line the entire time._

"He was on the phone when his wife called. Since I couldn't page him I had to go in, only he was talking all growly like, trying to sound sexy and everyone knows what that means right?" The girl tugged at the strap of her gown as she finished speaking, causing the opposite strap to fall off her shoulder.

"Do you know who Vincent might have been seeing?" Catherine asked.

"Oh well he gets a lot of calls, you know. He's the Assistant Manager now. I keep track of all his calls and I don't remember anyone calling for personal reasons." Beth spoke with an air of self importance which seemed out of place as she tugged at the bodice of her dress.

"What time was the call?" Greg interjected, ignoring Catherine's startled glance.

"Um. Well it was just before my ten o'clock break. I remember because I couldn't wait to find Steph and I knew she'd be in the staff room with Adam so I left for my break early. He did get a call from the district manager but that was just to set up a meeting next week."

"What's the office number?" Jim took out his notebook and pencil to take it down.

The girl rattled off the number easily, blowing at a strand of hair that had fallen across her face. She looked back at Catherine, lip trembling. "He's really dead?"

"I'm sorry, Beth," Catherine replied. "You've been a big help. If we have more questions we'll contact you."

The victim's secretary nodded, her face crumpling. Greg wasn't sure what he would do if the girl started crying, so he looked to Catherine for his cue. He was relieved when Beth quickly composed herself, smoothing her dress over her ample hips and taking a deep breath. "I can't ruin this for my sister. She's been planning her wedding for years." The straps fell off both her shoulders as she shrugged and tried to smile.

xXxXx

The bar was crowded and noisy, just the way Nick wanted it. He wasn't ready to talk to Warrick yet, but he didn't want to go on shutting the man out. When his friend had sent him a text earlier in the day, he'd been surprised and wary, but the message was lighthearted and made no reference to the coin toss or any of the ensuing events. It was a simple invitation to go for a drink and catch up. Nick thought he could handle that.

Until he'd walked into the bar and seen Warrick sitting at a table with a guilty look on his face. Nick sighed but approached his friend who handed him a cold bottle of beer. "I took the liberty," Warrick said simply.

"Thanks, man," Nick replied, sitting down and scanning the room. The silence between them was uncomfortable and palpable, even in the noisy bar. They both kept their eyes on the crowded room, awkwardly shifting and clearing throats as they drank. The tension grew between them until Warrick opened his mouth to finally speak.

"Another round, fellas?" Warrick's heart leapt in his chest as a waitress appeared beside them.

"Yeah. Sure," Nick replied, flashing her a quick grin. He watched her walk away, then turned to Warrick, finally meeting his eye. "She's cute."

Warricks eyebrows lifted. "Yeah. Yeah I guess she is." He gestured with his head to somewhere beyond Nick's shoulder. "That one's been eyeing you since you got here."

"Yeah?" Nick tried to sound interested. As casually as he could he turned around to look. He caught a petite blonde staring at him so he winked and laughed as she giggled, turning to talk to a brunette he presumed was her friend. Nick turned back to Warrick, the ice finally broken. "Think I have a chance man. Mind if I...?"

"Go get 'em cowboy," Warrick teased, grateful for the change in atmosphere. Suddenly it was just two guys out on the town, like old times before he'd met Tina, when the job was still fun and exciting and he and Nick would head for the bars on a night off, scoping out chicks and sometimes scoring. They had made a game of how many numbers they could collect before the end of an evening, the loser buying lunch the next shift. Warrick felt some of the burden ease as Nick leaned forward.

"Keep my beer cold, this won't take long." Nick grinned confidently, then stood and weaved his way through the busy room.

xXxXx

Nick watched the blonde walk back into the bar, not caring that she was in a huff because he wouldn't take her number. He gave a rueful laugh as he peeled the condom off, tying it off and tucking it back into the wrapper before stuffing the package into his pocket. His encounters were few and far between, but he always took his condoms home to throw away, used or otherwise. He had learned the hard way about leaving potential evidence around, he'd be damned if he ever made that mistake again.

Tucking in his shirt and zipping up his jeans he paused to look up at the midnight sky, trying to ignore the music blasting from the bar through the back door. Somehow he thought that mindless sex with a nameless stranger in a grubby back alley wasn't exactly what Dr. Harding had in mind when she told him to experience life affirming things. But Nick just couldn't think of anything else to do, especially in a city like Las Vegas.

Vegas was a city of fantasy, a web of lies spun for tourists arriving in droves with dollar signs for eyes. A city where predators existed to take advantage of visitors and citizens alike, to milk money and make a profit from people's wildest dreams. Vegas wasn't about life, Vegas was about death. Dead dreams, dead promises and dead souls. And for the crime lab, dead people. For someone whose job was all about death, finding life was an impossible task. Everywhere he went he was reminded of a case he worked, a scene or a victim he had processed.

Where does a guy find life when surrounded by death all the time? Nick asked himself as he leaned against the stone wall of the alley, unwilling to rejoin the crowd inside the bar. Warrick would be waiting for him, and Nick wasn't ready to cope with his accusing stare just yet. His friend certainly had a way of speaking without words; he could say it all in a look, a sigh, a shake of his head. It was one thing to chat a girl up, get her phone number, steal a kiss. It was all he had really intended when he had approached her, but one thing led to another and before he knew it he was in the alley with the girl pressed up against the wall, fumbling with belts and zippers. The sex had been fast and frantic but ultimately unsatisfying. Nick just wasn't sure why.

He was certain of one thing though. He knew Warrick wouldn't approve of the way he'd used the blonde, but Nick suddenly decided he wasn't up to caring about what his friend thought. He pushed himself away from the wall, deciding he would rather face Warrick upset over his womanising than asking for his forgiveness over winning a coin toss. Squaring his shoulders, Nick strode back into the bar, almost hoping for a confrontation, wishing for something, anything to bring him out of the numb haze he couldn't seem to escape.

xXxXx

_A/N - The meditation Nick is attempting is one I use myself, and I can attest to how difficult it was the first times I tried it! It's a beautiful exercise though and I highly recommend it! Feel free to message me if you want more info. _

_The paper referred to (the one Greg is reading in the break room) is an actual published document whose title I borrowed. Bibliography below. Note I didn't actually read the article. :)_

**Interoperator Test for Anatomical Annotation of Earprints (p 1246-1254)**  
Ivo B. Alberink, Arnout C. C. Ruifrok, Hartmut Kieckhoefer**)**  
Published Online: Oct 30 2006 12:00AM**)**  
DOI: 10.1111/j.1556-4029.2006.00253.x**)**

_Thank you Smokey, Yoshi and Kez!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Follow the Evidence**

**Chapter 4**

They were laughing at him. Greg was convinced the stars were laughing at him. What business did they have shining so brightly anyway? Twinkling through the haze of Vegas lights like that. Scowling, Greg wanted to swear up at the midnight sky. Instead he settled for kicking a rock as he paced back and forth outside the lab. The stone skittered across the parking lot ending with a satisfactory 'clunk' when it hit a lamp post. Greg scuffed his shoe on the pavement looking for another stone to kick while studiously avoiding looking at the stars.

It had been a full day since they had interviewed Beth Morgan, longer than that since he had left his evidence to be processed. While Greg was left to pursue the case everyone else had work to do. Warrick was buried in paperwork having taken the previous night off, working things out with Nick, Greg hoped. Grissom was practically chained to the Assistant DA in the conference room. Sara and Catherine were run off their feet with Nick out of action and here he was, doing nothing and feeling useless. As a lowly level 1 Greg still felt he had to prove himself, and solving this case would go a long way towards upping his credibility as a CSI.

Greg gritted his teeth against another wave of frustration. How was he supposed to solve a case when he couldn't even get his evidence analysed? First the techs had all been backed up and now some butterfingers on days had broken a vital piece of equipment. Another stone went skipping across the parking lot, landing harmlessly in the grass on the far side.

"You got something against rocks?"

Greg whirled, his heart sinking as he faced Brass with Catherine standing beside him. Obviously just in from a crime scene, the pair were simply staring at him, Jim with a sardonic smile on his face while Catherine simply looked thoughtful.

"Or maybe it's the grass," the captain continued.

Greg opened his mouth to answer then shook his head when he could think of nothing to say. He knew he was witty, but no one could match Brass for sarcasm. Jim chuckled knowingly then turned to Catherine. "I'll see you inside," he said as he continued up the path to the lab doors.

Greg felt a little sheepish as he shrugged his shoulders and scuffed the ground with the toe of his sneaker. He had no idea how vulnerable he looked with his eyes downcast and hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Walk with me," was all Catherine said as she inclined her head towards the door.

xXxXx

Nick bolted up from a sound sleep, hand automatically clutching his head even though he hadn't just connected with a plexiglass box. He must have been dreaming because his heart was hammering in his chest, his skin sticky with sweat. Sitting up in his bed he rested his elbows on his knees, willing his heart to slow down and stop pounding.

Focusing on the clock by the bed calmed him down. It was midnight. The night shift would be in full swing by now. Crime didn't sleep. Killers didn't keep to civil hours. Nick sat back against the headboard. Unwilling to go back to sleep he occupied himself by imagining what he'd be doing if he were at work.

Catherine would be walking the halls, handing out assignment slips. He and Warrick would be laughing, pretending to fight over who got the better crime scene. But since when was one crime better than the other? No…they wouldn't fight over it, they would flip a coin instead. Nick would be driving off to the scene, singing about Christmas in Las Vegas, chewing his gum and beating his fingers on the steering wheel. He'd be crouched at the scene, placing markers and taking photos. Something would catch his attention and suddenly he'd be staring down at a Styrofoam cup. He'd watch uncomprehending as the cup would pulse and heave and _move_ between his fingers before bursting apart spilling forth hundreds, thousands, _millions_ of ants that crawled up his hands and arms as he fell thrashing onto his back and still they would crawl over him, his legs, his chest, his face, biting, biting…_biting _until he was burning, and still they kept coming, pouring into his mouth so he was choking on a thousand stinging insects as they crept down his throat until he was drowning in pain, consumed by the burning.

Nick bolted upright, surging out of the bed and landing on the floor on his knees, coughing and retching as he clawed at his tongue with fingers that burned while he kept retching and coughing and flailing at the ants covering his body. Just as suddenly the insects were gone, and he was falling to the floor trembling, exhausted, and weak. Too drained to think, too exhausted to feel, he simply lay there counting the minutes until the tremors subsided.

xXxXx

"Have a seat, Greg," Catherine said as she closed the door to her office. If such a cramped space could be called an office. But at least she got to keep it even if there was a reshuffling of the team. She sat down at her desk, contemplating Greg who slouched in the chair opposite her.

"What's the problem?" she asked kindly but with a small amount of impatience. With Grissom tied up on his case and Nick unavailable she was really too busy to deal with bad moods and petty frustrations. But she owed it to Greg to at least let him vent. The sooner he dealt with the issue the sooner he would get out there and get some work done. Catherine softened as she realised there really was no one else the former lab rat could talk to. Grissom certainly wasn't capable of relating to him. In fact, Grissom was hardly capable of relating to anyone she thought wryly. Sara was a walking bad mood herself, while Warrick had his own demons to battle with. Fleetingly Catherine thought Nick would have been the better one to talk to Greg, but she sat back in her chair, ready to listen.

Greg let out his breath in a whoosh as he sighed in frustration, staying silent as he thought of the right thing to say. Finally, he opted for the truth.

"Just want to get this case solved. Close the book. Stamp the forms. Put it to bed. Knock it out of the ball park…."

"Greg, I got it. Easy on the metaphors ok?" Catherine interjected, holding her hands out. She was used to his rambling ways, but that didn't make it any less annoying.

Greg shrugged and cocked his head as he looked at the older, more experienced CSI. "Evidence is just lying there. How am I supposed to solve the case if I can't even get it analysed?" Stretching his legs out in front of him he crossed his ankles as he sat back, folding his hands across his stomach, a challenging look in his eye as he waited for Catherine's response.

"When's the last time you went to the evidence room, Greg?" Catherine asked mildly.

He raised one eyebrow at the unexpected question, "Uh…"

"And the cold case vault, Greg? When is the last time you were there?" she continued, her gaze becoming intense.

"Well…" he hesitated, not wanting to admit he couldn't remember.

"Not every case is solved in a day. Sometimes it takes weeks. It could take months and sometimes decades. Yes, it's frustrating, and yes, it's unfortunate, but that's part of the job."

Greg snorted, "Yeah, but how do you stand it? How can you just sit back and take it? Don't you get…I dunno…angry?" He waited expectantly.

Catherine tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she thought carefully how to answer. The trouble was there was no answer, no epiphany she could share that would help him to understand. She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it, still searching for the right words. With a rueful shake of her head she replied as simply as she could, "You just have to find your own way, Greg."

Greg scowled as if the answer wasn't good enough. Reading his expression Catherine leaned forward, "Look, you need some time to regroup. Take the rest of the night. The lab won't be back up until tomorrow so there's no point in hanging around here." Truth be told she could have used his help on another case, but with his stress levels so high he wouldn't be much use. Catherine knew first hand that down time, though rare, could work wonders for a harried CSI.

"Yeah?" Greg was incredulous as he sat up straight in his chair, nearly bouncing in the seat.

"Yes. Go. Watch a movie, play some video games. Do something that isn't thinking about work." Catherine smiled at the young man's lightning quick change of mood.

"Thanks!" Greg bounded out of his chair, reaching for the door handle. "You're the best!" he added over his shoulder as he left her office and practically ran for the locker room.

xXxXx

Cold.

No. Not cold. Hot. He was hot, his skin on fire again, burning, stinging, itching. He lay on his side on the floor, muscles cramped, fingers so stiff they didn't even twitch as his skin crawled.

Nick catalogued each sensation as it came to him, aloof and detached from himself, as though his mind acknowledged the feeling but could not admit it belonged to his body. He took a breath; another shallow inhalation while he waited for the fire to die, until he could feel the impression of the carpet imprinting on his skin, a piece of plastic from some wrapper stuck to his arm which in turn was going numb from the weight of his body. He watched the shadows creep across the floor as his muscles began to tingle, pins and needles flashing through him.

He blinked once, twice and suddenly he was fully aware of every ache and pain, every twitch and spasm. Slowly rolling over onto his stomach, he braced himself on sore arms, drawing his knees up so he was crouched on all fours. Taxed from even that small movement, he rested there, his stomach aching, throat like sandpaper, parched and throbbing.

With a deep breath he heaved himself up so he was standing, swaying on his feet. A cry of pain escaped his lips as he dug the heel of his hand into his eye, willing the sudden pounding in his head to subside. Squeezing his eyes shut, he opened them again, blinking and squinting at the clock. What had felt like hours passing had only been one. Nick sighed and looked around his bedroom, the bed strewn with his tossing and turning, window open to let in the night air. With his head clearing he pulled on a pair of sweat pants, then quietly made his way into the kitchen, leaving lights blazing as he moved through his home.

At one o'clock in the morning he was used to being active, usually at a crime scene, or in the lab analysing evidence, wide awake and far from idle. At home, in the still of night, he had no idea what to do with himself. Carefully shying away from any thoughts of his nightmare, he considered reading a book or watching television, maybe switching on a video game. And then it came to him. As he was scooping out teaspoons of coffee to make himself a pot, he noticed the Dukes of Hazzard game lying on the counter. He could call Greg, just to hear a human voice, connect with the outside world. The game was the perfect excuse. After all Greg would need to come pick it up sometime. It wouldn't hurt to remind him about it. After pouring the water and switching the pot on he went to find his phone.

xXxXx

Greg lingered in the shop longer than he normally would. They were playing a song he hadn't heard before and as he had nowhere pressing to be he stayed, bopping his head along in time to the music as he moved down the aisles. His basket was full of instant noodles, packs of nachos, and a box of Oreo cookies, an obligatory banana looking out of place amongst the junk. It would go black, as it usually did, and Greg would vaguely think about making banana bread until he eventually tossed the shrivelled thing into the bin.

As he made his way to the cashier a rack of DVD's caught his eye, the colourful 'SALE' sign above hanging by a thread as it threatened to fall. Always one for a bargain, he stopped, checking out the selection. His phone buzzed while his hands were full, and he jumped, DVD's falling from his hands and causing more to spill from the rack. Setting the basket on the floor, he scrabbled in his pocket for his phone before it stopped ringing.

"Sanders," he answered as he bent and tried to pick up the fallen films with one hand.

"Greg. It's Nick."

"Hey. What's up?" Greg was somewhat surprised. He'd been expecting someone from the lab, calling about his results or asking him to come back in.

"Nuthin'. Just. Thought I'd call, say hi…or…somethin'," Nick finished lamely.

Greg stopped picking up DVDs. Something in Nick's voice had his attention. He may be the newest CSI, but even he knew something was wrong. "Nick. You ok?"

"Yeah. Look, sorry to bug ya' at work and all, I know you're busy. Actually, well you left your game here and uh…well you can come pick it up anytime." There was a pause as Nick fell silent.

Greg cleared his throat. Reaching for the last DVD on the shop floor, he stood and stared down with disbelief at the movie in his hands.

"Actually, I could come over now. I have the night off."

"I don't want to impose or anythin'," Nick couldn't quite keep the note of hope out of his voice.

Greg shook his head, then laughed as he realised Nick wouldn't be able to see him. "I'll bring a DVD, some snacks maybe?" He put the movie back on the rack, reaching for another title that caught his eye. "You like Oreos?" he continued.

Nick chuckled, "Oreos. Yeah sure, sounds good. See you soon?"

"Be there in ten, Nick. See ya." Greg flicked his phone shut, grabbed his basket, and gave one last glance at the DVD he'd put away. It had to be a sign. Why else would a B-horror called 'Buried Alive' appear in his hands the minute he was talking to Nick? The thought sent a chill down his spine.

xXxXx

"Does she have a name?" Nick asked.

"Of course she does," Greg answered slyly. "But I'm not telling you."

Nick eyed his friend sceptically then turned his attention to his cookie. Dunking it thoroughly in his glass of milk he popped the treat into his mouth, brushing crumbs off his t-shirt.

"She's pretty pissed off, isn't she?" he said as he chewed.

Greg rolled his eyes ceiling-ward. It seemed not even a full mouth could keep Nick from talking during a movie.

"I would be too. I mean, look what they did to her. Does she get them all?" He gestured with his glass of milk towards the television.

"Just watch, Nick," was Greg's exasperated reply.

Nick set his milk on the coffee table. Picking up the DVD cover and flipping it over, he read the back one more time. "Kill Bill huh?" He sat back; reaching for another cookie from the package perched on the arm of his recliner.

Greg rolled his eyes. He could almost read his friend's mind and knew what was coming next.

"So who's Bill?" Nick asked, eyes on the screen so that he missed Greg mouthing the question with him.

Greg sighed quietly. "You'll find out. Just be patient." Sitting on the couch he leaned back, propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of him.

The two fell silent for a moment, and Greg was starting to think Nick was done with his questions. Nick took a breath, opening his mouth as he was about to speak and Greg couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing, shaking his head and clutching his stomach. Nick looked askance at him, unsure what he'd done to warrant such a reaction, but the young man's laughter was infectious and soon he was grinning foolishly while Greg struggled to regain control of himself.

The laughter eventually died, and the two began to talk while only half paying attention to the movie. Eventually Nick had to ask why Greg ate only the icing off his cookies while leaving the biscuit part behind, which turned out to be a long story involving a rather painful visit to the dentist when a much younger Greg had gotten black cookie crumbs stuck in his braces. To this day he couldn't eat the cookie part of an Oreo without wincing, but he loved the icing part so much he braved the perils of the evil biscuit to get it. His expression set Nick laughing again until Greg turned the conversation back to him.

"So you went out with Warrick last night?" he asked innocently.

"And?" Nick asked, suddenly wary at the turn of topic.

Greg was surprised at the tone in Nick's voice. "I just heard…."

Nick stood up angrily, his eyes flashing as he cut Greg off, "Jesus, I can't believe he told you. He had no right to tell you that."

Greg tried to keep from shrinking into the couch against Nick's anger. "I don't know…I mean…"

"It's none of Warrick's business who I sleep with! Just because it was meaningless doesn't mean he can tell everyone. Who does he think he is anyway?" Nick continued, nostrils flaring as he glared at Greg.

Greg couldn't sit there under that gaze, so he stood, facing Nick with his hands held out trying to placate his angry friend. "Seriously, Nick, Warrick didn't tell me anything."

"Yeah right," Nick snorted in disgust, "he probably couldn't wait to spread it around. 'Nick banged a girl in the back of a bar. Look how messed up Nick is'. Well it's not messed up. Everybody does it."

"Nick, I haven't spoken to him in days, man, I only heard you'd met up with him, that's all." Greg willed the older man to listen, his stomach in knots as he faced him down. The idea of Nick with some strange girl in the back of a dirty bar made his skin crawl. His friend deserved better than that. He met Nick's gaze unwavering, hoping he would calm down.

Silence fell in the room save for the sound of the television where steel was ringing against steel as two foes attacked each other, samurai swords cutting the air. Nick and Greg stared at each other until Nick finally shook his head and looked away. "Guess I put my foot in it huh?" he asked quietly, embarrassed and ashamed.

"Yeah. C'mon, Nick, you know Warrick better than that."

"It really didn't mean anything you know." Nick raised his chin defiantly.

Greg shrugged. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. Like you said, people do it all the time."

The tension in the room eased. Nick sat back in his chair with a sigh while Greg stood uncertainly, wondering if he should leave.

"No. What I mean is…it was…nothin'. I felt….nothin'." Nick looked down at his hands, frowning slightly as Greg sat back down on the couch.

Greg didn't quite understand what Nick was trying to say, but he owed it to his friend to listen.

Nick was silent for long moment. With his statement had come a sudden realisation. In the space of a few hours he'd been laughing at Greg, with him. He'd also been angry. Furious. Ashamed. _Emotional_. Looking at Greg who had turned back to watching the movie, he felt grateful.

"I don't even remember her name," Nick said in a whisper as Greg turned to regard him with a sympathetic gaze. "I thought it would help. You know?"

"I know. But casual sex is like that. It's draining. It's all take take take. When you have nothing in you to give, it's bound leave you feeling empty."

Nick was taken aback at Greg's reply. He knew Greg had hidden depths, knew there was more to the former lab-rat than his loud music, crazy antics and eye-watering hairstyles. Greg would never have made the transition from lab tech to CSI if he hadn't had reserves of determination and dedication to make the grade. But this, this was a level of wisdom he never imagined the young man would have.

Rubbing his hands together he fell silent again. He was at a loss. Unsure how to respond to Greg's statement, he let it drop, but knew he'd be thinking about it. A flicker of colour on the television caught his attention, and he sat back in his chair.

"So she let one of them live huh?" Nick asked quietly as the final moments of the film played out.

Greg laughed softly, shaking his head in amusement. "There's a sequel you know."

"Does she actually kill Bill then?" Nick asked as he reached for one last Oreo.

xXxXx

_A/N: A huge thank you to Smokey, my brilliant beta reader. Without whom this whole process would be a lot more difficult! Thanks to my readers for being so patient for this chapter. I hope it was worth it. I would sincerely appreciate comments and reviews, they make me happy :D _


	5. Chapter 5

**Follow the Evidence**

**Chapter 5**

Nick paused his video game then stood up from his spot on the couch and stretched, stifling a yawn. Greg had gone home hours ago, but Nick was still unwilling to sleep. He had watched some television until all the stations had signed off, then played a video game in an effort to stay awake. The countless cups of coffee were helping; if the caffeine wasn't kicking in then his bladder was insisting on attention.

Sauntering into the bathroom he quickly relieved himself then washed his hands, studiously avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He didn't want to see how tired he looked…he needed to keep pretending he wasn't tired at all.

Nick pottered into the kitchen, intent on making a fresh pot of coffee. At 7.30 in the morning he had only a few hours to kill before his next session with Dr. Harding. Nick snorted as he thought of telling her about the casual sex he'd had with the blonde in the bar or about the subsequent fight with Warrick. Nick almost _wanted_ to tell his therapist. He'd enjoy shocking her.

Shaking his head he grabbed a new bag of coffee from the fridge, pulling it open and inhaling the aroma, as if he could breathe in the caffeine. Grabbing a spoon he shook the bag then went stock still.

Something about the grounds caught his attention. The small, dark grains mounded like a heap of dirt, hissing as they slid against the foil bag.

Nick stared into the bag, hand still poised with the spoon in the air. His breath came in quick gasps as his panic rose, heart pounding. He knew, somehow he knew that if he dug the spoon into the bag, _into the dirt_, then fire ants would come spilling out. He could see them moving, just below surface under the dirt that heaved and pulsed.

Nick's hands shook as he stood frozen, unable to drop the bag, unwilling to hold onto to it. He didn't know how long he had been standing there, shaking and trying to breathe, when suddenly the loud buzz of his phone broke his reverie. Straightening his back he took three quick breaths then held it as he plunged the spoon into the bag, bracing himself for the impact.

Nothing happened. The coffee was just coffee and there were no ants spilling out to march up his arms, biting and stinging.

Nick let out the breath he'd been holding, feeling the curtain of depression fall as he did. Numbly he made his coffee, needing it more than ever to stay awake. If the nightmares were finding him when he wasn't even asleep….

Nick's mind shied away from the thought. He only had a few hours to kill. He could do this. He would stay awake for as long as he had to.

xXxXx

Greg yawned as he watched Mia work in his old lab. He didn't miss it, though sometimes it was frustrating to wait for results he could have processed himself. Still, he wouldn't have traded his old job for his new position as a CSI, so he waited patiently while Mia worked. He yawned again and Mia looked up at him, annoyed.

"Stop that, Greg," she muttered, but it was too late. She yawned loudly, covering her mouth with a gloved hand.

"Sorry, Mia," Greg tried not to laugh.

Mia snapped her gloves off and shrugged, "I'm done anyway."

"You're not going to wait?" Greg asked as she hung up her lab coat.

"Shift's over. I'm going home, Greg," Mia replied tiredly. "You know what to do," she added as she walked out.

Greg grinned then spun his chair around for old-times sake. He was tired though. He had only just gotten home and into bed when Mia had called saying she was finally getting to testing the watch he'd found in the trunk of their victim's car. He'd been so excited he immediately got up and dressed, heading back into the lab. He hadn't realised that when Mia said tests she meant that she still had to run them and then wait for the results.

The printer whirred into life in the silent lab and Greg grabbed the paper, eyes widening as he read the results.

"Huh," he said to himself. "That's too weird."

He picked up the evidence bag containing the watch, intent on running the tests again. Tipping the watch onto a tray he was about to reach for a pair of gloves when he stopped.

Looking around the room…at the lab that was once his domain…he sighed. If anyone had questioned him on his results he'd have had their head. He was a CSI now. He had to trust the techs or the team wouldn't work.

With a renewed sense of determination he grabbed a glove and picked up the watch, sliding the evidence back into the bag. Satisfied with his decision he took the printout and walked out of the lab, hoping to find Catherine before she left for the day.

xXxXx

Nick found himself waiting in Dr. Harding's office, bleary eyed and jittery. He was aware of the older woman's keen gaze, but her expression gave nothing away. They sat in the comfortable leather chairs in front of the therapist's desk, but Nick was just as uncomfortable as he had been the first time. He watched as she opened her notebook and put on her glasses.

"So, Nick. Why don't you tell me how the meditation exercise is going?"

"Uh. It's fine. Really useful," Nick grinned and nodded.

Dr. Harding took her glasses off and closed her notebook, setting both items on her desk.

"Thank you, Nick. I think we're done here," she said, a note of finality in her voice.

"What?" Nick couldn't contain his surprise.

"I'll call your supervisor today and have him find you a new counsellor," Dr. Harding continued.

Nick sat forward, raising an eyebrow. "I don't understand."

"Nick, my office is the one place where honesty is more important than ego. If you cannot be honest with me, perhaps there is someone else you would be more comfortable talking to."

"No. Wait. I'm sorry. I'll…I'll try," Nick managed. He didn't like the idea of starting over with someone new and having yet another stranger knowing the details of his abduction and burial.

The therapist fixed Nick with a long appraising stare before she replied, "I know you don't want to be here, Nick, but if you're not ready to be honest with yourself then you are only wasting your time and mine. I won't sign you back to work, but I will suggest another counsellor."

"I'm sorry," Nick said again as he sat back, hands on his thighs. "That won't be necessary."

"Good." Dr. Harding picked up her notebook again. "So how did it go with the meditation?"

"It's hard," Nick replied as the woman put her glasses on. He watched with an odd sort of detachment as she picked up a pen, then he stared down at his hands, idly rubbing the thumb of one hand against the palm of the other.

"Tell me about it," the therapist prompted.

Nick took a deep breath. He supposed there was no harm in telling her about his disastrous attempt to meditate, and he was going to have to make an effort if he ever wanted to get back to work.

Nick slowly let out his breath. His voice was quiet, his accent thickening as he sat forward and began to speak.

xXxXx

"Hey you're here, good." Greg stood in the doorway of Catherine's office, nodding at Catherine and then at Warrick who was just about to leave the room.

"Greg, come in. We're just finished." Catherine waved a hand towards the empty chair in front of her desk. "Did you get enough rest?" she asked.

Greg stood aside as Warrick made for the door.

"Yeah, actually I went over to see Nick." Greg plopped into the chair, tossing the slender file he'd been holding onto the desk.

Warrick paused in the doorway, turning back and frowning at Greg. "You know, Greg, Nick just needs to be left alone right now. Don't you think you're crowding him?"

Greg leaned back in the chair, lacing his fingers across his stomach.

"I think Nick knows better than you what he needs."

Warrick bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped.

"Just that he needs a little understanding, not friends who judge him then avoid him." Greg couldn't keep the note of censure from his voice.

"That's none of your business," Warrick growled, stepping back inside the room.

Catherine raised her hand. "Hey, guys! Cool it! Greg, Warrick's right. Just give Nick some space and he'll be back before we know it. Besides, you have a case to focus on."

Greg sat up in his chair. "You're siding with him?" He jerked his head towards Warrick. "Aren't you concerned for Nick?"

"Of course I'm concerned, Greg. I just…"

"You just can't face what happened so you'd rather ignore it. Well this isn't about you. It isn't about any of you. It's about Nick and he needs us. He needs his friends."

"Greg," Catherine said sharply. "This is about a team who's down one member who needs time to recover. Yes, it's unfortunate. Yes, it's difficult to deal with, but we still have a job to do."

Greg slumped back in his chair, scowling. Warrick tapped the doorframe with a fist. "Thanks, Cath," he said then turned and left.

"I still think Nick needs his friends," Greg muttered.

Catherine sighed. She knew Warrick was nervous about Nick, unable to face his own fears and guilt. She herself was having a hard time coming to grips with the sheer horror of what Nick had been through. Seeing him covered with fire ant bites but sedated and sleeping had been bad enough. They were all dealing with the aftermath of Nick's abduction in their own way, and guiltily she realised that she was avoiding having to face Nick. She didn't think she could stand seeing the waking nightmare reflected in his eyes.

Catherine sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and deciding to leave the issue for the time being.

"You have something for me?" she asked nodding at the file Greg had brought in.

Greg hesitated, clearly not happy with the conversation. Shaking his head he let the matter drop. "Yeah, got some weird results off the watch we found in the trunk. Thought you'd want to know."

He picked up the file and flipped it open, handing the printout to Catherine and sitting back while she read the results.

"Is this right?" she asked, glancing up at Greg then back down at the paper.

"Yup," Greg replied. "Three separate DNA types. The vic, an unknown, and the third…"

"Stan Stevens," Catherine continued. "Call Brass. We're bringing him in."

xXxXx

That went well, Nick thought as he started up his truck. Driving out of the small office block where Dr. Harding's office was located he edged onto the main road. He was keyed up enough to want to go somewhere or do something, anything to keep him from going home where he might give in to sleep.

He drove along, still uncertain about the counselling and just how much he could open up to Dr. Harding when he realised he could still pick and choose what he could be honest about. The therapist had seemed pleased when he'd told her about his struggle to meditate. They had spent the hour going through the exercise and talking about his inability to concentrate.

Nick was almost optimistic about the next appointment and he was already thinking about what he could talk about when a flashing sign caught his attention. In a split second he made a decision. Pulling into the carpark of a shopping mall he parked his truck. Sitting there with the morning sun rising high he could see the place was already busy. Maybe what he needed was time amongst humanity. He was still feeling lost, that curtain of disconnection was as heavy as it had ever been. Nick passed a hand over his face, closing his eyes with a deep sigh.

He had been buried while he was alive. He had survived, barely, but he wondered why, when he was above ground, he felt so dead.

xXxXx

_Stan was flicking through a pile of delivery dockets when he heard a commotion outside his office. Beth Morgan's annoying nasal voice rose above the babble, her words causing Stan to raise his head. _

"_It's top of the line. I picked it out myself." _

_Stan left his desk, opening the door to find Beth standing proudly beside Vincent Washe who was showing the gathered staff something that glinted in his hand. _

"_What's going on here?" Stan demanded. "Why isn't anyone on the floor?" _

"_Head office just delivered this to Vincent," Beth whined. "He was just showing it to us." _

_Stan stepped closer to Vincent. As if the promotion didn't rankle enough now his rival was being sent gifts too? _

"_Let me see that," he snapped, grabbing the object out of Vincent's hands and examining it carefully. Like Beth had boasted, the watch was top of the line. Stan recognised the name. Jealous and angry, he knew he'd never be able to afford such an expensive watch. _

_Before he could examine the watch further it was yanked back out of his hands._

"_Ow! Jeez, Vince, take it easy!" Stan yelled, sucking his finger then looking at the small jagged tear in his skin, a tiny droplet of blood forming at the edge. _

"_Alright everyone, show's over. Back to work." Vincent didn't even glance at Stan as the gathered staff dispersed. _

Stan sat back in his chair, staring belligerently at Brass.

"So you fought with Vincent over the watch," Brass summarized.

"No. It wasn't….I wasn't fighting." Stan sighed. "It was probably a cheap knockoff anyway," he muttered, tapping the fingers of one hand against the polished table in the interview room.

"And when was this fight?" Brass asked, ignoring the suspect's sigh of exasperation.

"I dunno. A week ago? A day before you lot came in to tell me Vince was dead," Stan replied, nodding his head towards Catherine who was sitting beside Brass.

"Would you mind showing us your hands?" Catherine leaned forward in her chair.

Stan pursed his lips then shrugged, holding both hands out palm down. He then tilted his right hand where a faint line across his index finger was barely evident. Catherine's face was expressionless as she made a note in her file.

"We'll need to photograph that," she said. The guard by the door quickly left the room and came back, camera in hand. Catherine took shots of the wound from different angles then set the camera on the table.

"Can I go now?" Stan asked, clearly unhappy.

Catherine nodded at Brass.

"But stick around," Jim growled as he led Stan out of the room.

Catherine met Greg in the hall where he'd left the observation room. "Well? What do you think?"

"Sounds plausible," Greg mused. "But then, he could have gotten that injury anywhere."

"Any luck on that third DNA sample?" Catherine asked.

Greg shook his head. "Still waiting on trace, though I'm hoping there's DNA from the vomit I found by the car. If it matches Stan, then I think we got him."

"Let's hope so," Catherine agreed as the two made their way outside the station.

xXxXx

Nick found himself wandering the mall, aimless and with no real destination in mind. Hands in his pockets he walked through the crowd, a press of people that didn't seem to know he was there. Nick was feeling more and more like a ghost as he drifted, the buzz of conversation rising around him, a hum of words he couldn't quite make out.

He was standing in front of a store blaring loud music, staring at a rack of DVD's when suddenly an idea struck him. Wandering inside he walked up and down the aisles until he found what he was looking for.

As he stood in line to pay, he dug out his phone and sent a quick text to Greg, the one person who didn't act like Nick was dead or a ghost. Greg would be interested in his purchase, and Nick felt a brief sense of connection with the world as he pressed send.

"Next!" a cashier yelled out. Nick moved forward to pay for his movie, the bright cover of Kill Bill II flashing as the cashier scanned the movie and slipped it into a bag.

xXxXx

Greg was in the DNA lab when his phone buzzed. He quickly read Nick's message, smiling to himself as he turned back to the day shift lab tech.

"Well?" he asked as he pocketed his phone without replying, pushing down the nagging feeling that he was missing something important.

"Just about there," the tech muttered.

Greg stared back down at the toxicology report he'd finally gotten from Henry. There had been alcohol in the sample, but nothing alarming. It was the DNA from the stomach lining found in the sample that Greg was interested in. If it matched Stan Stevens then it would give him the link he needed which placed Stan at the scene.

Greg's musing was interrupted by the whirr of the printer. The tech grabbed the paper and read the results.

"No match," he stated.

"What?" Greg was incredulous.

"Sorry, Greg," the tech said as he handed the print out to Greg.

"It doesn't match Stevens," Greg repeated. "But it does match that third unknown."

Thanking the tech he took the report and walked down the hall with a niggling feeling that he was forgetting something. He was so lost in thought he barely noticed Sara coming towards him until he almost ran into her.

"Sara," Greg yelped. "Sorry!"

"You looked a million miles away. What's up?" Sara asked.

"I'm not sure. I feel like I'm missing something," Greg frowned.

Sara pursed her lips. "Shift's over, go home and get some rest. I'm sure it'll come to you."

"Yeah," Greg continued to frown, his unease increasing for no reason he could discern.

"You're a good CSI, Greg. You'll get it." Sara moved to continue on her way then stopped, turning back to Greg.

"Oh and, Greg? You're doing the right thing. For Nick."

Greg's frown deepened. "He needs his friends, Sara, but everyone's treating him like he died or something."

Sara was quiet for a moment before she replied, "I think we all died a little that night, Greg."

"Well, I'm not going to let him go through this alone," Greg stated.

Sara simply nodded then continued on her way.

Greg stopped in the break room, sitting at the table and spreading out his notes while he tried to figure out the case. He poured over all the evidence, the results and the interviews, but nothing jumped out at him. If there was a case breaker still waiting to be found, it wasn't in his file yet. Greg sighed and stretched, surprised to note the time that had passed while he'd been studying his case.

Quickly he put his files away and was changing in the locker room, trying to pinpoint the nervous feeling that had come back and was growing stronger.

He was tying his shoes when it hit him. Nick's text message. Nick was buying Kill Bill II and Greg was horrified as a scene from the movie unfolded as if in front of his eyes. The main character, the woman with no name…buried alive by her enemies. Buried alive! If Nick watched that movie there was no telling what it would do to him.

With a cry of horror Greg jumped up and ran out of the locker room, intent on getting to Nick's place as soon as possible. Nick had sent that text hours ago. If Nick had watched the movie already, Greg had no idea what he would find when he got there.

With his heart pounding in his ears Greg ran to his car, feeling like he was racing against time. He had to get to Nick before it was too late!

xXxXx

_A/N: Thank you to my readers for your extraordinary patience while I write this story! It might take me an inordinate length of time to post new chapters, but I promise I'm not abandoning it. _

_Thanks also to my great beta reader, Smokey, without whom I would never punctuate properly! _


	6. Chapter 6

**Follow the Evidence**

**Chapter 6**

Greg ran up the path to Nick's house and onto the porch, stabbing the doorbell with a finger then pounding on the door with his fist.

He was greeted with resounding silence.

Greg chewed his lip, worried for Nick; certain his friend had recently watched a film that would have devastating effects. The last thing Nick needed to see after his ordeal was a movie which featured the main character being buried alive! No good could come of it, Greg was positive Nick would be traumatized.

"Nick!" he yelled, trying the doorknob with no luck; it was locked. Heart thumping in his chest Greg jabbed again at the doorbell then peered through the frosted glass window beside the door, straining to see any sign of movement. The chime of the doorbell faded and still there was no answer.

"Nick," he called again, hoping he wouldn't have to resort to kicking the door in. He pounded on the door once again for good measure then pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialing Nick's number. Nick's phone rang once…twice, three times before switching to voice mail. Greg hung up and dialed the number again with one hand, jabbing at the doorbell with the other in a panic.

Greg uttered a cry of exasperation as Nick's phone went to voice mail a second time. Flipping his phone shut he pocketed it then stepped back, ready to break the door down. He had just lifted his leg to swing his foot into the door when it finally opened and Greg stood face to face with Nick.

Greg was shocked. He stood motionless, staring at Nick in dismay; foot raised and ready to kick.

Nick was okay! He was okay and standing in the doorway with a look of puzzlement on his face. To Greg's intense relief, Nick looked haggard and tired, but not traumatized. He drew a shaky breath and grinned lopsidedly.

"Greg?" Nick asked, raising an eyebrow. "Somethin' wrong?"

"I should be asking you that," Greg replied, putting his foot down and hoping Nick hadn't noticed his stance. "What took you so long?"

Nick's eyebrow rose even higher. "I was on the can. Some things just can't be rushed."

Greg blushed. "Right. Sorry. I was just…," Greg grinned again to cover his confusion. "Most people are usually tripping over themselves for the pleasure of my company."

Nick just shook his head and opened the door, inviting Greg in and closing the door behind him.

Greg was relieved when he walked into Nick's living room and spied a bag from the film store lying unopened on the coffee table. It was obvious Nick hadn't watched the movie yet. He decided to say nothing about it for the moment.

"How about I kick your butt at Ninja Shadow Warriors?" Greg suggested instead, seeing the game sitting on top of the game console.

"You sure about that?" Nick asked. "I've had a lot of time to practice!"

"Bring it on!" Greg laughed.

"You asked for it, man." Nick said, shaking his head and flicking on the television, quickly starting up the game and handing Greg a controller.

Greg sat on the couch, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, ready for a go at a good old button bashing fighting game. Nick sat beside him and loaded up the one-on-one fight mode.

They were choosing their characters when Greg's phone beeped with a text message. He dug the phone out of his pocket and set it on the coffee table without looking.

"Not gonna answer that?" Nick asked.

"It'll wait." Greg answered as he quickly tapped in the name for his warrior.

"Daisy?" Nick laughed. "You're naming your fighter Daisy?"

Greg grinned impishly. "Why not? I whupped you once with Daisy in Hodges' board game, remember? I'm hoping to capitalize on the luck."

"You'll be eatin' your words when I'm through with ya," Nick boasted.

They fell silent as the screen loaded and the fight began. Both men were in earnest, both wanted to win. Thumbs mashed buttons as the characters on screen fought to the death.

"Dude that hurt!" Greg yelled as Daisy took a particularly hard hit.

"Suck it up!" Nick laughed, half standing as he unleashed a series of hits with his character.

"Ooooh you're asking for it," Greg warned.

The tide of the game turned as Greg unlocked a secret move. All too soon Daisy was standing over Nick's warrior, victorious and bloody.

"And Daisy does it again!" Greg cheered as he sat back on the couch flexing his fingers.

"Beginners luck," Nick shrugged off the loss. "Next time I won't go easy on ya'."

They played more rounds of the game, laughing and bantering as they both won and lost bout after bout. Greg was only a few points off beating Nick's high score when the older man suddenly sat forward, tongue poking out from his lips as he fought to keep Greg from winning.

Greg was nearly standing as the fight began to even, Nick scoring more hits and points. The tension was palpable as they both held their breath, mashing buttons until Nick unleashed a flurry of moves, delivering the killing blow with a triumphant flourish.

"Hey!" Greg yelped.

"Told ya I'd teach ya a lesson," Nick said with a smirk.

"Gee thanks, Nick." Greg sat forward and set his controller down then picked up his phone to read the text message he'd received. It was from Hodges, and Greg couldn't suppress his sigh of disappointment that the tech had no results from the sample he'd left for processing.

"You got anything to drink?" Greg asked as he put his phone down again.

"Yeah, there's some cola in the fridge," Nick said. "What was that about?"

"Oh, it's just Hodges. I was hoping for some results for this case but he's got nothing."

"What's the case about anyway?" Nick asked as Greg stood and walked into the kitchen.

"I have to admit I'm stumped," Greg replied, opening the fridge. "The vic was found tied up in the trunk of his own car," he continued as he grabbed a bottle of soda.

In the living room Nick flinched as if he'd been slapped.

_His wrists hurt as he struggled against the plastic tie. He was on his back, helpless as the vehicle he'd been thrown into drove on. It smelled musty, unwashed. The upholstery was gritty under his face where he lay captive and defenseless. _

"COD was a heart attack," Greg kept talking, setting the bottle of cola on the counter.

Nick closed his eyes as the memory flashed before him.

_Doc Robbins and his father, pulling his heart out of his chest and laughing._

"Last clue I'm working on is the vomit we found by the car, but DNA gave us nothing and there's no tox or trace either." The hiss of escaping gas from the bottle he had just opened accompanied Greg's words.

_The overpowering scent of ether filled his nostrils and Nick struggled not to vomit as he gagged against the waves of vertigo that accompanied the harsh smell. _

"But the weird thing is we found a watch in the trunk, as if he'd been forced to watch the countdown to his own death," Greg continued as he pulled open a cupboard door, reaching for two glasses.

_Tick, tick, tick. The sound of his watch was unbearable in the close confines of his Perspex coffin. Every passing second was marked out for him; every single second when his friends and colleagues hadn't found him yet. He was alone, in the dark…buried._

"Still, something will come up. I just gotta follow the evidence, like Griss says," Greg picked up a glass to pour the soda.

"_Hi CSI Guy. Know why you're here? Because you followed the evidence."_

Suddenly Nick was back in the coffin, listening to that feeble, sinister voice.

"_So breathe quick, breathe slow…you're going to die here." __The tape clicked off and Nick panicked, kicking and screaming with terror in the sickly green glow, the only light in his underground tomb. _

Nick clutched his head and fell from the couch to kneel on the floor. He couldn't breathe as he keened a cry of despair, utterly lost in his terror. He was back in the coffin.

_He __was in his coffin and he was going to die, alone and underground with no one to find him. They would never be able to find him!_

Greg heard Nick's cry and turned, dropping the glass and uncaring that it hit the counter and fell to the floor, shattering into pieces. Greg was already leaping around the couch, on his knees beside Nick who was hunched over, his body wracked with great heaving sobs.

"Jesus! Nick, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" He reached out and touched Nick's shoulder, appalled at his tactlessness.

At his touch Nick turned and blindly flung himself at Greg, clutching at his back and sobbing into his shoulder. Through his cries he was trying to talk, trying to speak past the grimace and the tears. Taken aback, Greg could only hold on to his friend; what he heard through the sobs broke his heart.

"What took you guys so long?"

Guilt and sorrow weighed down on Greg as he wished he could turn back time and stop this from ever having happened in the first place. He closed his eyes and held Nick tighter as tears began to track down his own face.

Nick, caught in the storm of his flashbacks held on to Greg, the only living link he had; the only reminder that he was out of the coffin and still alive. He poured out his terror, re-living every moment of his ordeal, every thought, every scream; he remembered it all and wailed as his spirit broke under the strain.

Greg could only hold on and pray Nick would come out of it soon. He couldn't say how long they knelt there, Nick utterly broken with grief and anger and fear. His body trembled uncontrollably, muscles tense with remembered terror and hopelessness. Greg held him as long as it took, but no one, no matter how much they despair, can cry forever. Eventually Nick's weeping subsided into quiet sobs that grew more and more stilled until finally he took one deep shuddering breath that ended in a sigh. Sniffing deeply he raised his head from Greg's shoulder, rubbing his eyes as he let go of Greg's t-shirt.

"Sorry, man," he said as he left a strand of snot on Greg's soaked shoulder. Wiping his nose with the back of his hand he glanced around the living room looking for something he could use as a tissue.

"Here," Greg pulled his t-shirt off over his head and handed it to Nick. "It's already a mess."

Blowing his nose on the t-shirt Nick sat back against the couch and sighed again. His eyes were dry and sore; his face and nose were blotchy and red.

"Nick," Greg began. "I'm so…"

"It's ok, Greg," Nick stopped him, his voice hoarse.

Greg shut his mouth and shifted so he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing Nick. They sat in silence for a moment before Nick spoke again.

"I didn't mean it you know," his voice was husky and hushed. "I know you did everythin' you could to find me." He looked down at the t-shirt bunched in his hands. "It's just…I could hear my watch tickin' and I couldn't sleep while I was…" Nick closed his eyes as he continued. "It was like, well like you said I was hearin' the countdown to..." Nick couldn't say the words. _To my death. _

Greg sat unmoving as Nick spoke. He had really had no idea what a truly horrific ordeal Nick had been through. Greg was literally at a loss for words. He stared down at his own hands, ashamed at his ineptitude. Some friend he'd turned out to be.

Nick looked over at Greg sitting speechless and shirtless, both states he'd never seen Greg in before.

"Listen, Greg. Thanks. I needed that," he said, truly meaning it. He finally understood that he had to be broken before he could be mended. Sitting in denial as he had been would never have helped him heal. With a rueful laugh he tossed Greg's t-shirt onto the coffee table.

"Here," he said as he heaved himself to his feet. "I'll lend you a shirt."

Greg couldn't suppress a laugh. "I always knew you wanted to get my shirt off, Stokes," he quipped.

"Yeah you keep telling yourself that, stud," Nick shot back as he made his way into the bedroom.

Greg laughed and stood, wincing as pins and needles shot through one foot. With a little limp he went into the kitchen; there was a floor full of glass that needed sweeping.

He had just found the broom and dustpan when Nick came into the kitchen, tossing him a t-shirt. Greg quickly put it on then just as quickly swept up the glass, apologising to Nick as he did so.

Nick simply shrugged; a broken glass hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. He sat at the kitchen table feeling exhausted and yet somehow lighter. His bout of tears had been cathartic and he dared to hope he might actually be able to sleep without the usual nightmares haunting him.

He idly watched Greg bend to pick up a particularly large shard of glass, one hand braced on a cupboard door. An idea struck him then; the thought as clear as day. Nick cleared his throat.

"Greg?" He cleared his throat again, nervous to bring up Greg's case when it was hitting so close to home. "I think I know how to help your case."

Greg straightened. "Yeah?" He asked, his voice even so as not to betray his worry.

Nick looked down at the table top, willing his limbs to relax. He wasn't sure he could handle another panic attack but this was possibly a solution to this case and therefore important to Greg.

"Well, uh…you said you found some…uh…vomit by the car?" Nick traced his thumb in circles on the kitchen table, praying his hands would stop trembling as he continued. "Maybe the guy who left it there put his hand on the car like. To brace himself while he got sick."

_DA Michaels…retching and coughing…bent over…hands on his knees…._

Nick blinked the memory away. "Then again, maybe not. But…it's worth a shot. Did you print the wheel well? Maybe the side of the trunk lid or somethin'?"

Greg stared at Nick. The solution was so obvious! He could kick himself for not thinking about it sooner.

"Nick, you're a genius!" Greg grinned and Nick blushed.

"Nah, I wouldn't say that. But it's nice to be helpin' on a case. I'm goin' stir crazy waitin' to get back to work," Nick admitted.

"You'll be back soon, Nick. We need you. Cath's working triples, Sara maxed out her overtime and Warrick…" Greg's voice trailed off.

Nick looked away. "I know. I'll deal with it. Just not now. But tell 'Rick…tell him…" Nick's voice trailed off. He wasn't sure what message he wanted to convey.

"Tell him no hard feelings?" Greg suggested.

Nick looked back at Greg and sighed. "Yeah. Somethin' like that."

Greg knew he'd pushed the issue enough. Instead of replying he looked down at the t-shirt Nick had given him as if finally noticing just how garish it was. With a snort he shook his head, "Yellow tie-dye, Nick?"

Nick took the change of subject for what it was and laughed as he explained. "My sister gave that to me as a joke."

"Some sister," Greg teased. "Did you ever speak to her again?"

"Never," Nick joked. With the easing of tension in the room he stood, reaching around Greg to grab the empty glass sitting on the counter and filling it with water from the sink. His throat was dry and the water felt soothing as he gulped it down.

Greg set the dustpan on the counter, grabbing the broom and returning it to the closet where he'd found it. He felt a bubble of excitement rising up as he thought about Nick's observation. There had to be a handprint on the car. There just had to be!

"Listen, Nick. I think I'll take off now." Greg began.

"Yeah. Yeah I understand." Nick did understand; a possible case breaker was just too good an opportunity to pass up.

"You sure? You'll be ok?" Greg asked.

"Yeah. In fact, I think I might get some shut-eye for once." Nick didn't mind making the tacit admission.

"I'll give you a call later," Greg promised, making his way into the hall where he stooped to pull on his shoes and grab his coat. "And I'll bring your shirt back."

Nick snorted, "I hope not!"

Greg flashed him a grin as he opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight.

"Oh," Greg stopped and turned back to Nick, "One more thing." He pulled his coat on as he spoke. "Don't watch the movie, ok? Kill Bill II? There's a scene…well…" He paused while he tried to decide how much to reveal to Nick.

"What is it?" Nick asked.

Greg opted for the truth and hoped Nick wouldn't panic. "She gets buried alive."

Nick was silent as he regarded his friend. Greg was nervous, playing with the zipper on his coat.

When Nick answered his voice was thick, but his eyes were grateful, "Thanks, Greg. I think I'll give it a miss then."

Greg sighed, relieved, "Just…looking out for you. That's all."

Nick nodded his head in acknowledgement and thoughtfully watched as Greg turned and jogged to his car. He would never have expected the wacky former DNA tech and now equally wacky CSI to become such a good friend; to stick so close when the others were essentially ignoring him. Nick closed the door with a sigh and went straight to his phone. He needed to call Dr. Harding and make an emergency appointment. He was finally ready to talk; there was a lot to get off his chest before he could even think about going back to work.

xXxXx

Greg's mind was racing as he got into his car and started it up. Pulling out of Nick's driveway he was acutely aware of the choices facing him. It was early afternoon and his shift didn't start until nightfall. He could head for the lab to act on Nick's hunch and dust the car for a handprint or he could go home and get some much needed rest.

Easing his car into the traffic he beat his fingers on the steering wheel, torn between solving the case and getting some sleep. He'd been up for…Greg quickly checked his watch….far too long and going back to the lab would mean yet another long shift. But breaking the case was important and Greg was impatient to solve yet another case, prove himself as a CSI.

Greg mulled over his dilemma as he drove, and all too soon he reached the critical intersection; he could go straight and be at the lab in ten minutes, or turn right and head for home. He was relieved when the light turned red as he approached the intersection. He really wanted to solve the case. He really wanted to sleep. He wanted another arrest under his belt. He wanted a pillow under his head. He wanted…

"Shit," he muttered. The light was green. He was out of time.

With the insistent honking of a car horn behind him, Greg set his foot to the accelerator and made his choice.

xXxXx

_A/N: Yet another long wait for what I hope is a worthwhile chapter! This one has been the hardest to write, for many reasons. The story isn't over however and I do hope you, my readers, hold on for the next chapter!  
_

_Reviews and comments are most welcome. I sincerely thank each one of you that has left a comment and asked me to keep writing. It means so much to me! _

_This chapter has not been beta read so any mistakes are purely my own. _


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